


Reflections On A Villain

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-14
Updated: 2006-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:12:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the destruction of a vanishing cabinet lands a young Tom Riddle at 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry is anything but pleased... initially.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reflections On A Villain

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you recognise from the books (or films). It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved.  
> Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle  
> Warnings: Strong language, sexual situations, flangst, second person narrative.  
> A/N: The first part of this was written in August 2006, and the second in March 2007. It was already AU then, and it's even more so now. ;)

The first time you see him, you suppress a strong urge to be sick. 

He looks exactly like he did back in your second year at Hogwarts—dashing, devious and full of himself. 

A pandemonium of memories overwhelms you. It's violent, unpleasant and a whole new shade of infuriating and frankly, right now, you'd like nothing more than to permanently wipe that smirk off that boyish face.

You regard him a little more closely; because you're a curious Gryffindor who just can't help himself.

You instantly find yourself baffled—and just a little bit amazed—-by what you see in those dark eyes. You don't detect a hint of malevolence at all, just plenty of confusion; a growing bewilderment that mirrors your own.

  
******

  
She sits there, wringing her hands, extremely distraught, as she admits that she honestly doesn't have a clue how any of this could have happened.

"The vanishing cabinet was a horcrux," she explains for what feels like the thousandth time and then goes on to tell you that its destruction should have weakened Voldemort, not caused a younger version of him to walk the earth.

You shake your head and just for good measure, remind her again that the world now has two Dark Lords; one of whom is only sixteen, completely clueless about his future ambitions and as yet blissfully unaware as well, of how one day, he will loathe all muggleborn magical folk with a merciless ferocity. 

Were it entirely up to you, you'd dispose of him now, while he's still weak, ignorant and easily dealt with.

But you can't do that, of course. You're supposed to be on the Light Side, after all; the so-called saviour of the wizarding world. It's your duty - some even claim it's your destiny, to _save_ people.

Not that you're particularly good at it, mind you.

There have been too many corpses already, one more maimed and decomposed than the next; every single one a testimonial to how useless you truly are; all of them put together, a morbid collage of _too little, too late_.

Every day, you ask Hermione, "Why do I go on? What's the point of all this?"

It's foreign territory; for the first time in your life, she doesn't have any answers for you. 

Some days, you almost hate her for that. 

And maybe everything would be so much easier too, if you weren't stuck with _him_.

  
******

  
You've noticed that he's spending more and more time in the library these days.

You don't know what he reads, nor do you particularly care, although you expect Lovecraft might be his style, assuming he ever bothers with muggle authors at all. 

Initially, Riddle (you flat-out refuse to call him Tom, even in your head) tried to engage you in small talk. His attempts were only ever met with silence, though. So he finally gave up, two weeks ago now on Tuesday.

You assume he eventually grasped the concept that you'd really rather not have him here. 

You think it would be even nicer if he drew his conclusions from that and buggered off altogether.

  
******

  
You feel him looking at you across the breakfast table and you glare.

He unceremoniously drops his spoon and gets up to leave.

A scolding "Oh honestly, Harry!" is sent your way, but you can't be bothered to care about your best friend's indignation. 

You're too busy reveling in the sense of power and the near-sadistic satisfaction you derived from the knowledge that, once again, you managed to make him squirm.

  
******

  
He and Hermione seem to be friends now; or library buddies, at the very least.

Even Ron has become surprisingly polite to him, which you think is greatly disappointing.

You don't understand in the least, how your best mate clearly can't forgive Malfoy - who's been a valuable spy for the Light for more than a year now, some childhood stupidity, but yet seems to have no qualms at all about playing chess with an alternate version of Voldemort. 

Alistor Moody, meanwhile, keeps reminding you ad nauseum that the Tom Riddle in your house isn't a Dark Lord in training. You inwardly shake your head at those lectures and think to yourself that you'd have to be pretty daft to pay much attention to the words of someone who spent countless months held hostage at the bottom of his own trunk.

  
******

  
Time flies.

You witness as well as cause more death, more desolation, more destruction and somewhere along the line, you also manage to rid the wizarding world of all the remaining horcruxes.

The time has come to prepare for the final battle.

Amidst the mayhem, you stopped paying attention to Tom. 

Well, except for the fact that you really _didn't_ and these days, you have to remind yourself too, that it's actually _Riddle_, not _Tom_.

The boy doesn't say much to anyone anymore, not even to Hermione. You assume he still spends most of his time reading, but you're not entirely sure. Then you tell yourself that it doesn't matter; that you couldn't give a ruddy toss what he does. 

You almost believe it as well. 

  
******

  
One night, he passes you by on the stairs.

It's the evening before the final battle, but you don't know that yet. 

Neither does he. But still, he bids you good night and good luck.

You glare in response. It's a habit now.

He decides to point out the obvious. "You don't like me much, do you?" 

You look at his ever so innocent (but you're not really buying that, are you? of course not!) face and instantly, months of repressed rage finally burst to the surface.

You push him against the wall and you punch and kick and punch and kick.

He doesn't struggle. 

He doesn't fight back.

When your anger has subsided at last; you pull back, disgusted. With yourself, or with him; you're not quite sure.

The bastard didn't even bother to defend himself.

And for that, you hate him too.

  
******

  
You return from the final battle feeling exhausted and oddly unaccomplished.

You close your eyes and will yourself not to think about all the bodies you saw today. 

You didn't get a fairy tale ending (not this time, either), but at least you got the villain.

At Grimmauld Place, his younger self is waiting for you when you return. 

He embraces first Hermione, then Ron, then Ginny and then finally, he pauses to look at you.

You see something in his eyes that you don't want to analyze. Not now; probably not ever. 

You turn and walk away, completely missing the defeated look on his face. 

  
******

  
"You're free to go," Remus tells him one morning.

He nods slowly.

You wonder why he doesn't look more pleased at the prospect of freedom.

Then you realize he has absolutely nowhere to go.

"Of course you're welcome to stay as well," you offer, before you've had the chance to really think things through. 

"Thank you," he says and smiles. 

You feel your stomach clench oddly and you don't quite know why. 

  
******

  
Months have passed. 

Everyone has left you now, apart from him. 

Well, of course they haven't exactly _left_. 

They've just moved out of your house - their former head quarters, to start a new life; enjoy a future where the impending threat of a Dark Lord no longer exists.

You find you rather like the tranquility. After years of turmoil, it's a welcome change.

You don't know when it was precisely, that you decided to stop hating Tom for the deeds of the man - no, the monster, you vanquished that day.

You assume it must have been a gradual process.

  
******

  
Even after all this time, the two of you still don't talk much.

But it's nice, though, having someone else around; even if it's him.

At least he never nags, never fusses, never says "honestly Harry" like that's really your name, and he has a wonderful sense of humor too. 

One morning, you wake up and realize you'd miss him more than just a little if he suddenly left.

  
******

  
You can't remember what triggered the argument, exactly. 

But you do know that you ought to know better than to talk about the war or mention the other Voldemort to him. Sometimes, though, especially on a day like today - the anniversary of Sirius' death, you just can't stop the stupidity from spilling forth. 

Usually, the other boy just shrugs off your cruel words, takes whatever violence you decide to dish out or simply walks away.

Tonight, however, things are different.

Tonight, for the first time, he yells back.

Tonight, he's the one who pushes _you_ against the wall.

Utterly baffled by the completely unexpected retaliation, you close your eyes and mentally prepare yourself for hard knocks delivered by angry fists and the taste of blood that will undoubtedly follow.

But he doesn't use violence. 

Instead, he pins his body to yours and kisses you with a gentleness you would never in a million years associate with the man he might have become. 

You find yourself kissing back desperately, because it's the only thing you can think of to do; even if you're not exactly _thinking_ right now. 

The universe shifts.

  
******

  
It's your first time with another bloke; well, truth be told, it's your first time with anyone, really. 

The awkward fumbling with Ginny now feels like a lifetime ago and it was never quite this... _fulfilling_.

When it's over, he holds you close and kisses your face as if you're something to be cherished.

Your stomach does that strange clenching thing again and you wonder if this is what love feels like.

Briefly, you consider asking him, but from everything you've heard, you can only assume that he must be about as clueless on that subject as you are - if not even more so. 

So instead, you just lean up to kiss him again.

He smiles at you now, that beautiful smile that makes your insides all gooey and you think that maybe, amongst yourselves, you'll figure it all out some day; and even if you don't, at least you'll have lots of fun trying.


	2. One Year Later

You stand in the middle of the neglected, overgrown garden, you pull your heavy woolen cloak more tightly around you and you sigh. 

This place holds so many memories and not a single one of them is pleasant.

"What a derelict dump," Tom remarks, clearly unimpressed. 

"Hm," you murmur, "but at least it'll be gone soon."

Not long after the war, the Muggle government confiscated Riddle House. 

In a few months' time, a block of council flats will stand in its place, and you think that's a fitting end to a terrible era, the kind of poetic justice usually only found in books.

He wraps his arms around you and he tells you he despises November. 

You smile, feeling much warmer now, and you shake your head, because sometimes he utters the most unexpected, irrelevant things. 

Not that you disagree with the sentiment itself.

November is gloomy and grey, and grey reminds you of foggy days and ashes falling from autumn skies and the lack of colour in so many lifeless cheeks. 

"Some day we'll need to venture back out into the world," he says.

The words are spoken quietly, almost inaudibly because he knows from experience that suggestions such as these are likely to send you into a frenzied panic.

This time, though, you simply nod your head in response because, deep down inside, you realize he's right. 

The two of you have been hiding out for too long, happy and safe in your own little cocoon where only Tom and Harry matter, while you have your whole lives to get on with.

But still... 

Things aren't quite as simple. They never are. Not even now. 

"There would be loads of vicious press attention," you say grimly. "It could get pretty dangerous. People wouldn't understand about you… about _us_."

These past few months, you've given the matter a lot of thought. You're the victorious hero while he's the ruthless villain.

Except, technically, he's not.

If it weren't for the destruction of that vanishing cabinet, he wouldn't even exist. He has no past to speak of and he never did anyone any harm, nor does he ever plan to.

It took you quite a while to grasp all that. Even Moody believed him before you did. 

For the longest time, you distrusted and despised Tom with every fibre of your being, until hate gradually turned to understanding and a fragile truce finally led to that fateful night when you were at last able to see him for what he actually was - what he _is_ - and you promptly found yourself in his arms. 

But you're well aware that the rest of wizarding society mightn't be willing to give him a fair chance. 

After all, he's another version of the monster you vanquished, and they'll probably insist that he be gone, killed, or at the very least locked up, just in case, just to be on the safe side, because people are known to be paranoid and stupid and full of prejudice.

Not to mention that they're still terrified. Countless war wounds have yet to heal and nightmares and traumas are still a major part of so many people's lives. 

And to a point, you empathise. How could you not? 

But at the same time, the thought of losing him is more than you can bear. 

He's all you have, the only one who really matters. You couldn't possibly put him at risk.

"Maybe we should move away," he suggests, and it's almost as if he's reading your mind, and who knows, perhaps he is? 

He's supposed to be a natural at that sort of thing. 

You suppose it's funny how that particular subject hasn't surfaced once, not even after all this time. 

Sometimes you think that this relationship is very complicated, considering who you both are.

But only _sometimes_.

Most of the time, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, like he's a part of your soul, and he holds more of your heart than you do.

Gently, he kisses you on the forehead, on the very spot where your scar continues to fade a little more each day, and he says, "I hear New Zealand's quite lovely this time of year." 

And you grin, because he may just have a point there as well.

A fresh start is long overdue.


End file.
